Wrong Signals
by rittenden
Summary: The case was straightforward: crime, culprit, confession. But something didn't sit right with Don...
1. Prologue

A/N: Thanks to 3rdgal and Zubeneschamali for the beta read and the advice. This story is complete (not WIP) and will be posted at fairly regular intervals.

A/N2: Due to confusion at another site where this is posted, I will explain something right from the start - I have used creative licence to get the character 'Mosley' to the bullpen. Most people would not be able to get to the third floor of an FBI building without an escort. Before anyone leaves a review stating otherwise, let it be known that imagination should have either created a 2D character of your choice to get him there, or that Mosley's sudden appearance unchallenged in the bullpen should have led to the conclusion that he _was_ escorted. I will not be making changes to clarify this point. It's not integral to the overall story, anyway.

**Wrong Signals**

Don leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head. A loud popping noise accompanied the movement, causing him to wince. Megan looked at him sympathetically. "Just about time to go home?" she asked.

"Not yet," Don replied, sitting forward and once again picking up his pen. "I've still got to finish this." He glanced up at her. "You can go if you want, though," he added.

"I don't…" Megan's voice trailed off in thought. "You know," she said after a moment. "I think I might just do that." She stood and picked up her jacket. "These reports aren't going anywhere."

Don nodded without looking up. "Especially without any new leads," he agreed.

"Are you going?" Megan asked, shrugging into her coat.

"In a minute."

Megan pulled open her desk drawer and took out her purse. "You should see about getting something to eat, at least," she said. "You haven't had anything decent-"

"Excuse me?"

Both of the agents turned to find a small, mousey-looking man standing nearby, nervously wringing his hands. "Can I help you?" Don asked, getting to his feet.

The older man glanced around and then took a tentative step forward. "They told me downstairs that I needed to speak to an Agent Eppes?"

"That would be me," Don replied, holding his hand out for the other man to shake. "And you are?"

"Lance Mosley," he answered. "I saw on the news about that girl that was murdered – the one at the Vagabond Motel?"

Don glanced at Megan, whose eyebrows shot up. "Yes?" Don asked. "Do you have information about it?"

Mosley glanced around again. "I think," he began, then hesitated. "I think… I killed her."


	2. Confession

A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed. Sorry if it didn't seem long enough, but the first part _was_ labeled 'Prologue'. Think of it as the few minutes before the first commercial. If you feel you're wasting your time with this story, you don't have to leave a review. I'll understand.

"How did you meet her?"

Don sat at the end of the long conference table, with Mosley on one side so the man wouldn't feel like he was being interrogated – which he was. Megan sat at the other end of the table, making notes on a legal pad silently so as not to distract them. Mosley didn't even look in her direction. "I was… there was a bar," he began.

"Where was this?" Don asked.

Mosley wrung his hands. "Down on Tremont. Just a little place – 'The Rose', I think it was called." Don nodded once and Megan wrote it down. "It was late. Probably gone eleven by the time she walked in. I didn't even notice her at first."

Don waited. When the man didn't continue, he prompted, "Then what happened?"

He seemed to think for a moment. "I was sitting there, minding my own business – I didn't want to bother anybody, you know?" Don nodded. "She was playing pool with a couple of guys and they had some kind of argument. She threw the cue on the table and came over to me."

"Why did she do that?" Don asked.

"Well, I was sitting at the bar, you see," Mosley replied with a shrug. "She came over to get a drink, I suppose." He fell silent.

Don glanced at Megan. She met his gaze and gave a small nod. "So she ordered a drink," Don said. "And then what?"

"She looked at me," Mosley replied in an almost-whisper. "And she asked me if I'd buy her a drink. I said 'sure'. I mean, why not? Pretty girl… and I wasn't with anyone… I bought her a drink."

"What kind of drink?"

"Something fancy," he replied, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. "With a city name – you know, New York, or…" He frowned. "No – Manhattan. That's it. She wanted a Manhattan."

Don glanced at Megan again. The autopsy report had said the girl's stomach contents revealed she was drinking heavily that night – and the combination of ingredients typically made up a 'Manhattan'. A point in their favor. "Go on, Mr. Mosley," Don said. "Then what happened?"

"She started talking," the man went on. "About how she was there for spring break and how her friends had left her to go to some party…" He shrugged. "I just let her talk."

"What were you drinking?" Don put in suddenly.

Mosley frowned again. "Rye, I think," he said at last. "Yeah… it was rye."

"How much had you had by that time?"

"I don't know. Five? Six? I was pretty wrecked." Mosley sighed. "Anyway, she went to the ladies' room – I thought she'd taken off – but then she came back and grabbed my arm. Said she wanted to get out of there."

Don nodded. "Did you?" he asked. "Leave, I mean."

"Yeah." Mosley ran a nervous hand through his hair. "I didn't even think about it. I mean, what would a pretty girl like that want with a guy like me, you know? I'm not that much to look at, I admit it."

"You don't think she'd be attracted to you?"

Mosley sat up and waved a hand vaguely in front of his chest. "Look at me, Agent Eppes!" he burst out. "Do I look like the type of guy that would attract girls that look like her?"

Don smiled gently. "Maybe not," he agreed. "Where did you go after that?"

The other man slumped in his seat, staring at the table top. "I thought she wanted to go to another bar," he continued after a moment. "She asked me to take her to her motel instead."

"The Vagabond?" Don asked.

Mosley nodded sadly. "We got there – I expected her to brush me off, then – but she dragged me inside and started… you know." His cheeks reddened slightly.

"How did you get there?" Don put in suddenly.

If anything, Mosley's blush deepened. "My car," he said quietly. "It wasn't that far, but…" His voice trailed off.

Don frowned and glanced at Megan. The motel manager didn't say anything about a car. "Where did you park?"

"I don't…" Mosley hesitated. "Around the back, I think," he said at last. "She wanted me to park in front, but I didn't."

Megan opened her mouth to speak but Don silenced her with a look. "Then what?" he prompted.

Drawing in a shuddering sigh, Mosley went on, "She was all over me – touching and kissing and…" He shrugged. "You know… And then she stopped."

"She stopped?"

"Just… stopped. I don't know why. By that time I was pretty worked up and when she quit… it made me mad."

Don nodded sympathetically. "I bet," he replied. "Got you all hot and bothered and then just turned it off? I'd be pretty mad, too."

"I was," Mosley nodded emphatically. "I yelled at her. Asked her what the hell she was playing at."

"What did she say?"

"She told me to shut up."

Don blinked. "That's it? Just 'shut up'?"

Mosley glanced up. "Well, no," he replied slowly. "She used some pretty rude words. Called me an 'old man' and told me to shut up – said I should be grateful she'd paid any attention to me at all."

"How did that make you feel?"

"Angry," Mosley replied in a firm tone. "I got really mad then."

Don rested his chin in one hand. "What did you do?"

"Tried to leave," Mosley bit out. "But she wouldn't let me."

Shifting a bit in his seat, Don caught Megan's eye and she nodded. "She wouldn't let you leave?" he repeated. "What did she do?"

"She grabbed me," the man replied. "Grabbed my arm and dragged me to the bed. Then she pushed me down onto it and told me I wasn't going anywhere."

"What did you do then?"

Mosley looked up at Don slowly. "I don't remember."

**123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321**

Don and Megan stood side-by-side in the observation room, watching Mosley fidget through the one-way glass. "What do you think?" Megan asked at last.

"I don't know," Don replied. "His prints came back a match for the unknowns in the motel room – they were even on the lamp base used to kill her."

"But?"

He shook his head, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I don't know," he repeated softly. "Something about this just doesn't sit right."

Megan pointed to a folder lying on the table in front of them. "He's a predicate offender," she offered.

"I know that," Don replied, turning. "An attempt to solicit a minor. But that was over ten years ago, Megan."

"And Mandy Fischer was only nineteen," Megan countered. "Barely legal."

Don shook his head. "I still don't think…" He shrugged. "We'll hold him, of course, but I want to keep going on this."

"Don?"

"Just…" He turned to look at her. "Just don't ignore anything, okay?"

Megan regarded him thoughtfully. "All right," she agreed. She stared at him for a moment, nodded and then left the room.

Don watched Mosley for another minute and then left too.


	3. Evidence

"Agent Eppes?" Don turned to find a good-looking man in his early forties standing behind him. The man held out his hand and Don shook it firmly. "Gordon Fischer," he continued with a soft mid-western drawl. "Mandy's my…" He paused, sucked in a breath and went on "Was my stepdaughter."

"Mr. Fischer," Don replied. "I am so sorry for your loss."

Fischer nodded. "Thank you," he said. "They told me you're handling the investigation into…" Again he broke off. "They said you'd know what's going on."

Don picked up a folder from his desk and guided Fischer to one of the conference rooms, closing the door behind them. "Mr. Fischer," he began when the other man was seated. "I'm afraid I can't comment on an ongoing investigation, but…"

"What do you mean 'ongoing'?" Fischer demanded, half-rising out of his seat. "They said on the news that you got the guy!"

"Mr. Fischer," Don said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "Please – sit down." When Fischer complied, he went on "We have a suspect in custody, yes. But the investigation isn't complete." The other man opened his mouth to speak but Don cut in "You wouldn't want your stepdaughter's killer to get away because we didn't have enough evidence, would you?"

"No," he mumbled to the tabletop. "I guess not."

Don opened the folder in his hands and took a chair opposite. "Now, I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you some questions about Mandy." Fischer waved a hand vaguely, a gesture Don took to mean he should continue. "What was her full name?"

"Amanda Josephine Fischer."

"Her birth date?" They already had the information, obtained from Mandy's ID and a records check, but Don used the questions to calm the other man's rattled nerves. When he was done the statistical information, Don asked, "When was the last time you talked to your daughter, Mr. Fischer?"

He sighed and ran a hand over his face wearily. "The day that…" he began. "That day."

"Did everything seem alright with her?" Don went on. "Did she seem upset, or worried?"

"No." The other man shook his head. "She was happy – excited."

"Why was that?"

Fischer looked up. "She was in California," he replied, as if that explained everything. "She was on spring break – her classes at the university were wearing on her, I could tell. She was finally getting a chance to relax and cut loose."

Don smiled. "I've been to college myself, Mr. Fischer."

"Mandy wasn't like that," the other man retorted. "She was a good girl who applied herself to her classes. She never fooled around when she was at school. That's why…"

Silence fell between them. After a moment, Fischer coughed and said, "That's why I wanted her to go. She didn't want to, you see – she never did. We only saw her at Christmas. I talked her into it."

Don nodded sympathetically. "It's not your fault, Mr. Fischer. You couldn't have known this would happen."

"All Mandy's friends wanted to go to Florida," Fischer continued. "I said California would be safer." He barked a short laugh. "Safer!" he repeated. "How wrong can you get?"

"I'm sorry," Don said. "What was Mandy studying?"

Fischer waved his hand. "Engineering – some kind of biology thing. I never knew what it was. She said she wanted to do it, so I let her."

"Was she on some kind of scholarship?"

The man nodded. "But if she wanted anything else, I paid for it." He met Don's eyes. "She was my only daughter, Agent Eppes. The only one."

Don glanced down at the file. "Mandy attended the University of Nebraska in Lincoln, is that correct?" He waited until Fischer nodded again and continued, "Sophomore year, lived off campus…"

"I told her it was safer to stay in a dormitory, what with security and everything, but she said it was too distracting." The older man sighed. "I was only trying to protect her."

"Distracting?" Don echoed.

He nodded. "Said she couldn't concentrate on her studies." He looked at Don. "She was a good girl," he added softly.

Don nodded. "I'm sure she was," he agreed quietly. He hesitated for a moment and then asked, "What do you do, Mr. Fischer?"

"I'm a farmer," he replied. "Corn, mostly."

"And do you make a fairly good income from that?"

Fischer narrowed his eyes. "What are you getting at, Agent Eppes?" he demanded.

"Just answer the question, please." Don met his gaze squarely.

After a moment, the older man sighed and shrugged. "I do okay, yeah," he replied. "Why?'

Don chewed his bottom lip while he considered. At last he said, "Mr. Fischer, your stepdaughter was found wearing a pair of very expensive earrings." He paused. "Would you happen to know where she got them?"

"I bought her stuff," Fischer replied. "My wife bought her stuff. I think JoBeth might have bought her some earrings once. I could ask."

Glancing at the file, Don asked, "JoBeth Fischer is Mandy's mother?"

The man nodded his head. "Mandy's dad died right after she was born."

"I see." Don thought for a second. "Did your wife and Mandy get along?"

"Now wait a minute, here!" Fischer protested. "Just what are you driving at?"

Don held up a hand placatingly. "I'm just trying to do my job, Mr. Fischer," he answered calmly. "Just relax."

"Relax?" he demanded. "You're asking me questions about my wife like you suspect her for…" he broke off. "What the hell are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything," Don continued in an even tone. "I'm just trying to cover all the bases." He turned a page, pulling out a large color photograph and sliding it across the table. "Do you recognize those, Mr. Fischer?"

Fischer's jaw worked angrily for a moment as he stared at Don. At last, he looked down at the photo. "No," he bit out. "I haven't seen them before. Those the earrings you're talking about?"

Don nodded and took the picture back, replacing it in the folder. "Mandy was wearing them when she died," he replied. "They're valued at over five thousand dollars."

Fischer's mouth opened in a silent 'o'. "I never would've bought her something like that," he whispered. "Neither would JoBeth."

Standing, Don replied, "I believe you, Mr. Fischer."

"You do?"

He nodded again. "Those earrings were stolen last month during a home invasion," he replied. "The homeowners – a man about your age and his wife – were murdered."

Fischer stared at him in shock. His throat worked silently and then he said, "Mandy wouldn't have been a part of that, Agent Eppes. I know she wouldn't."

Don reached for the door handle. "Mr. Fischer," he replied quietly. "Obviously, somehow, she was." He opened the door and went out.


	4. Contradiction

"Don," David said as he rounded the corner of Don's cubicle, a sheet of paper held in his hand. "You were right."

Don looked up quickly from his computer, taking a pencil out of his mouth. "I was?" he asked. "About what?" He took the proffered piece of paper.

David stuck his hands in his pockets. "They dusted the earrings Mandy Fischer was wearing and found two partial prints on the back." He pointed to the forensics report in Don's hand. "They weren't a match for Fischer – _or_ Mosley."

Scanning the report, Don said, "Partial prints – unknown…" He looked up. "We don't have them on the database?" he asked.

"No."

Don mulled it over. "What about the university?" he mused. "Do they use fingerprinting for security there?"

David shook his head. "No," he replied. "Just photo ID cards."

"Damn." Don rubbed his chin absently while he thought. "Well, get a list of her classmates from the university anyway, I guess," he said at last. "And ask Fischer if he knew who any of his stepdaughter's friends were – no, wait," he corrected as David turned to leave. "Ask him if his _wife_ knows who Mandy's friends were." David nodded and left.

"Hey, Don."

Don glanced up from his musings to find his brother standing beside his desk, Amita directly behind him. "Hey, Charlie," he replied. "What brings you here?"

Amita and Charlie exchanged a look. "Uh," Charlie began, turning back. "We were supposed to go to Dad's thing today, remember?" He rolled his hand as Don looked at him blankly. "The mall… the ground-breaking ceremony… Culver City…"

"Oh, man," Don breathed, rubbing his forehead. "I completely forgot. Charlie – you and Amita go. I can't…" He waved a hand at the stack of paperwork in front of him. "I've got this case I'm working on and…"

Charlie nodded resignedly. "I figured," he replied. "What case?"

"Charlie…" Amita began.

Don glanced from one to the other. "No, Charlie," he said. "Look – Amita's right. You two should go. It means a lot to Dad…"

"He wanted you to come, too," Charlie countered. "What are you working on?"

Sighing, Don shook his head. "It's a murder case – which seems to have somehow gotten mixed up with a home invasion from a month ago."

Charlie smiled. "A home invasion?" he echoed. "The FBI investigates those now? What, don't you have enough work to do?"

Don cast him a wry look. "We do when the home invasion includes two murders and the theft of over a quarter of a million dollars worth of jewelry," he replied. "We originally caught it because of that, but now…" Don shook his head as he rifled through a stack of papers. "Now I've got a university student on break, dead, wearing a pair of earrings from the same crime."

"Wow," Amita said, frowning. "Which university?"

"Nebraska," Don replied shortly. "Lincoln."

"KUMUNU," Charlie commented with a glance at Amita, who nodded.

Don's brow furrowed in confusion. "Coo-what?"

Charlie laughed. "No, Don – KUMUNU. It's an acronym for the universities of Kansas, Missouri and Nebraska." He shrugged. "It's a math conference I attended once. Well…" he added sheepishly. "Not _that_ conference, exactly. They didn't have one that year. It was actually a gathering of the members of the American Mathematical Society."

"KUMUNU, huh?" Both Charlie and Amita nodded. "And you say you were there?"

"At the university of Nebraska in Lincoln, yes," Charlie agreed. "Beautiful campus – great conference."

Don chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. At last, he said, "Mandy Fischer was an undergraduate there studying biomedical engineering."

"Freshman?"

"Sophomore." Don pointed to a folder on his desk. "She was found three days ago in her motel room, dead."

Amita gasped, "That's awful! What happened?"

He shrugged. "She'd been hit over the head with a metal lamp. The thing is…" Don picked up the photograph and held it out to Charlie, who took it. "She was also found wearing those."

Charlie whistled softly. "I take it they weren't a Christmas present."

"No," Don agreed. "They were part of the collection of jewelry stolen in the home invasion last month." He pointed. "Those are worth over five thousand dollars."

"What's a sophomore doing with stolen jewelry?" Amita asked.

Don took back the photo, staring at it for a moment before replacing it in the folder. "I don't know," he replied quietly. "But I think, whatever it was, it got her killed."

**123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321**

"Why would the people responsible for the home invasion kill Mandy Fischer and not take back the earrings?" Megan asked, pacing the length of the conference room. The agents were arranged around the room, studying files and trying to come up with possible scenarios. "It doesn't make any sense. If she took the earrings without their permission and they killed her for it, they'd take them back after she was dead."

"Sell them to the highest bidder," Colby put in with a nod. "So if it wasn't them, who was it?"

David spoke up. "What about Mosley? He seems to think he's responsible."

Megan glanced at Don, who was frowning and tapping a pencil against the tabletop. "Yeah," she agreed. "But our fearless leader thinks he's innocent."

They all looked over and Don shrugged. "Other than fingerprints…" he began.

"Which were all over the motel room," Colby supplied.

"And the lamp," David cut in.

"I know, I know," Don said with a heavy sigh. "It looks like Mosley."

Colby grinned. "If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…"

Don tossed the pencil down angrily and got to his feet. "I know that, okay? Mosley is the most likely suspect – the evidence says so, _he_ says so, but…" He stopped in front of the large view-screen on the wall displaying Mandy Fischer's picture and those of the crime scene. "I don't know," he continued softly. "Something about this…"

The others waited in silence for him to continue. At last Don turned and asked, "What did Mosley say about the bar?"

Megan picked up a folder, flipped it open and began to read out loud. "'I was sitting there, minding my own business… She was playing pool with a couple of guys and they had some kind of argument. She threw the cue on the table and came over to me'." Megan looked up at him expectantly. Don nodded for her to continue. "'She asked me if I'd buy her a drink. I said 'sure'."

"Why would she do that?" Don interrupted.

"Do what?"

"Ask him to buy her a drink. Don't most women wait until it's offered?" Don asked. He indicated the folder. "Keep going," he said.

Megan returned her attention to the file. "Umm… he goes on to explain the drink…" She marked a spot with her finger and quoted, "'She started talking about how she was there for spring break and how her friends had left her to go to some party… she went to the ladies' room… I thought she'd taken off… but then she came back and grabbed my arm. Said she wanted to get out of there'."

"Kind of odd, don't you think?" Don asked. "First she gets him to buy her a drink, then she has him take her to her motel and then she shuts him down?"

Colby glanced at David. "Sounds like she was trying to make someone jealous," he commented. David nodded in agreement.

"Mosley said she was playing pool 'with a couple of guys' and they got into an argument," Megan supplied.

"What about the part where she wouldn't let him leave?" David cut in. "That sounds kind of off, too."

Megan tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I wonder," she said in a soft voice.

"What?"

"Well," she continued, setting the file down and turning to face her colleagues. "If Mandy Fischer was trying to make someone jealous, it would explain a few things."

Don stepped forward. "Like?" he prompted.

"Like the drink, and the offer," Megan replied. "Having him drive her back to her motel…" She snapped her fingers suddenly and pointed at Don. "She wanted Mosley to park out front, but he wouldn't."

"She got him all worked up," Colby mused. "Wonder if that was in the car or on the way to the motel room?"

David leaned against the table. "She could've put on a heck of a show from the car to the room," he added.

"And then, once they got the door closed," Don said. "She turns off the heat and tells Mosley to shut up and sit down."

"Suddenly dear little Mandy Fischer doesn't seem so innocent after all," Megan commented.

Don turned to glance at the screen again. "And Mosley looks even more so," he added.


	5. New Puzzle

David strode into the bullpen. "Mosley says they got hot and heavy in the parking lot," he said to Don. "He doesn't remember what happened on the ride over."

"I'll bet she kept her hands to herself the whole time," Colby put in.

Megan startled them all by slamming her phone receiver into its cradle with a wordless growl. "What _is_ it with these people?" she demanded explosively.

"What's the problem?" Don asked.

She gestured wildly at the phone. "I've been trying for the last half hour to get some information from the university on Mandy Fischer's classes and stuff, and they keep insisting they can't release the information without a court order! Don't they realize that this is a _murder_ investigation?"

Don shrugged. "So we get a court order," he began.

"Lord knows how long that'll take," Megan retorted dryly.

"Maybe it won't be necessary." The team looked up as Charlie turned the corner and leaned up against the wall of Colby's cubicle.

Don lifted his chin. "Yeah, buddy?" he said. "You got an idea?"

"Two, actually," Charlie replied, holding up two fingers. "Martin Luffman…" He dropped one finger. "…And Diane Telcott." He dropped the other.

"And who are Martin Luffman and Diane Telcott?" Megan asked, shaking her head in confusion.

The mathematician smiled. "A couple of very dear friends of mine," he replied. "Who just _happen_ to work in the mathematics and engineering departments at UNL."

Don grinned broadly. "Way to go, Charlie," he said, giving his brother a 'high-five'. "Think you can get hold of these people and find out what we need to know?"

Charlie shrugged. "I can definitely give it a try," he replied. "UNL is a big campus, but the class sizes are relatively small – there's a sixteen-to-one ratio of students and teachers at NU."

"Wow," Megan commented. "That's pretty good."

"It's _very_ good," Charlie corrected. "It's not easy to work those kinds of dynamics in a scholastic setting."

Colby spoke up. "You think one of them can find out about Mandy Fischer's habits – who she hung out with and stuff?" he inquired. "When I went to college we didn't have much to do with our instructors, socially."

Charlie shrugged again. "It's a start," he replied. "You can put through a request for disclosure with the school while they ask around – maybe both avenues will lead to results."

"I'm game for that," Don said, getting to his feet. "I'm going to run down to evidence to get her things – maybe there's something there that we've overlooked."

"Don," Megan began. "What about Mosley? His lawyer's pushing for bail."

Don chewed on his bottom lip for a second. "If Mosley can make bail," he said finally. "Then so be it. The more we work on this the more I'm convinced all he's guilty of is bad judgment."

"And DUI," David supplied.

"He oughta fry for that," Colby muttered darkly.

Don nodded. "Yeah, but one thing at a time, people. First let's find out who really _did_ murder Mandy Fischer and then we can turn Mosley over to LAPD."

**123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321**

Charlie wandered into the conference room, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Hey, bro," he said quietly. "How's it going?"

Don looked up from the pile of belongings in front of him. "Oh, hey, Charlie," he greeted. "Not that great, I'm afraid."

"Oh?" his brother asked, moving closer. "Why is that?"

Flipping through an address book covered in pink flowers, Don replied, "There just isn't anything here. I've been through all of this stuff four times already, and I haven't found anything that jumps out at me." He set the book down and picked up a small purse, turning it inside out and inspecting the lining.

Charlie idly sifted through the pile of objects on the table, stopping when he came to an object that resembled an alarm control panel. "Interesting," he mused. "I wonder what she was doing with this."

"Hmm?" Don looked at him over the top of the purse. "What's that?"

Flipping the device over in his hand, Charlie replied, "This. It's a PRS device."

Don set the purse down and took the remote from his brother. "What's a 'PRS device'?" he asked, examining it carefully. "I thought it was some new kind of PDA."

Charlie smiled and took it back. "The University of Nebraska in Lincoln is one of a growing list of institutions that uses devices like _this_…" He shook it slightly. "…To help teach their classes."

Don frowned. "What's it for?"

Setting it down on the table, Charlie took a breath and then launched into 'teacher mode'. "The PRS, or 'Personal Response System', is used in the classroom to provide a way for the students to interact directly with the instructor during a lesson." He wandered to the end of the room and pointed at the large LCD screen on the wall. "They're an awful lot like this screen, and the remote you use with it, only on a broader scale." He paced back to the table and picked up the PRS again. "With this there's an LCD readout for things like quizzes and tests – the answers they submit are transferred immediately via infrared and radio waves to the command device, usually held by the classroom instructor." He tossed it to his brother, who caught it and turned it over in his hands, a frown furrowing his brow. "It's really quite handy," Charlie went on. "Does everything from lessons to homework to attendance."

"Neat." Don studied it carefully. "And you say she shouldn't have one?"

"Well," the younger man mused. "As far as I know, the engineering classes aren't using them, but I can ask Diane about that." He tapped his forefinger against his chin. "The main reason I said that was – why would a student on spring break with her friends bring it with her? She's supposed to be on vacation."

Don shrugged. "The stepfather said she was a dedicated student," he supplied. "Maybe she was doing her homework?" He shot Charlie a quick grin. "She wouldn't be the only student in history to do schoolwork while on vacation."

"Very funny." Charlie punched his shoulder playfully. "It's possible, I suppose. Whereas the devices only work within a one-hundred-and-fifty-foot radius of the transmitting hub, they can operate offline using stored data."

Holding out the device, Don said, "Why don't you take a look and see what kind of data it's got?"

Charlie took it and nodded. "You _do_ realize you have technicians that can do that," he said.

"Yeah," Don replied with a grin. "But I also realize that you've been hovering around for the past couple of days with that 'can I help?' look on your face."

"I have not-!"

Don held up his hands. "And so far, the assistance you've given us has proven invaluable," he said quickly. "I just thought you'd like to check it out yourself."

Charlie grinned, mollified. "Yeah, I would," he agreed. "Thanks."

"Anytime, bro."

**123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321**

Don looked up as Colby entered the bullpen. "Well," the other agent began. "Mosley's been granted bail."

"How much?"

"Half a mil," Colby replied. "Seems the lawyer Fischer retained pushed for a higher amount with the District Attorney's office."

Don frowned. "Think he'll make it?" he asked. "Mosley, I mean?"

Colby shrugged. "When I left he was talking to a bail bondsman," he said. "Maybe."

"Well," Don said, turning back to his computer. "If he does, he does. As long as he doesn't try to skip out, he'll be alright."

Lowering himself into his chair, Colby laced his fingers together and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You really think he didn't do it, huh?"

"Do you?" Don looked up sharply. "The more we dig into this, the more I'm convinced Mosley isn't any more than a stupid man who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"They used that, you know," Colby offered, sitting up and rubbing his chin with one finger thoughtfully. "Mosley's lawyer."

"Used what?"

Colby shrugged. "The fact that the FBI seems to doubt his guilt – that we seem to be… what did he say? 'Dragging our feet in the pursuit of his conviction'."

Don threw his pen down in disgust. "What the hell?" he demanded, getting to his feet and grabbing his jacket. "They'd rather see an innocent man thrown in jail and have a quick end to this case than wait a little longer to make sure we've got the right guy." He shrugged into his coat angrily. "Sometimes I wonder why I even bother," he added.

"Because if you didn't, innocent people would get thrown in jail so they have a quick end to the case?" Colby supplied.

Don cast him a sideways glance. "Right," he said. "I'm gonna go find something to eat – you want anything?"

Shaking his head slowly, Colby replied, "Nah. I think I'll hit David up when he comes back. He owes me fifty bucks, anyway."

"Oh?" Don's eyebrows rose. "What for?"

"Well," Colby drawled, toying with a pencil on his desk. "Originally he bet me twenty-five bucks that we wouldn't need your brother on this one, but then Charlie came in with the UNL contacts."

"And then?"

The agent grinned. "Then he bet me double or nothing that we wouldn't need him for his math," he added. "Right now David's down at CalSci, listening to Charlie explain how he used one of those fancy algorithms to find encoded data on the PRS device you gave him."

"Granger," Don said, shaking a finger at him. "One of these days you're gonna be wrong," he warned. "You're gonna wind up losing your shirt."

"If there's one thing I've learned since I started working here," Colby replied. "It's that your brother can apply math to anything." He grinned. "I think my wardrobe's safe."

Don returned the grin and headed out of the room.


	6. Another Piece

"Agent Eppes!"

Don turned, groaning inwardly at the sight of Gordon Fischer bearing down on him, an angry look on his face. "Mr. Fischer," he began.

The other man cut him off. "What's this I hear about you people letting Mosley go?" he demanded. "That man killed my daughter!"

"Mr. Fischer," Don tried again. "We don't know for sure that he killed Mandy. In fact," he went on, overriding the other man's protests. "We have reason to believe Lance Mosley had nothing to do with her death."

"How can that be?" Fischer retorted. "His fingerprints were all over her room."

Don pursed his lips in thought, reluctant to give out any more information. "I can't tell you that," he said at last. "What I _can_ tell you, though, is that we have other leads we're pursuing that could very well provide the answers you're looking for."

"The only question I have that hasn't been answered," the other man snapped. "Is why the FBI is letting my daughter's killer wander around free?"

"He's not 'wandering around free'," Don replied. "Mosley has been granted bail. If he can come up with that, then he'll be released until trial."

Fischer snarled, "Well, he _did_ come up with it. When I left the courthouse half an hour ago, he was standing on the steps, talking to a couple of guys in expensive suits."

"Those would have been his lawyers," Don replied soothingly.

"No, they weren't," the man argued. "I was in that courtroom, remember? Mosley's lawyer looks like he's fresh out of law school – these guys were a lot fancier."

Don frowned. "Mr. Fischer," he said suddenly, taking out his cell phone. "I promise we'll talk later, alright?" He punched a few numbers and held the device to his ear. "I promise." He brushed past the man, heading quickly for his SUV parked a few feet away. "Colby?" he said into the phone. "Meet me at the courthouse. There's something weird going on." Snapping the phone shut, Don climbed into his vehicle and started the motor, tires squealing as he peeled out of the parking lot.

**123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321**

Turning the device over in his hands, David glanced at Charlie skeptically. "It's for what?" he asked slowly.

"For assignments, tests, quizzes – that sort of thing," Charlie replied.

"And how does it work?"

"Well," the professor replied, coming around the end of his desk. "Let's say you're instruction a class of a hundred and fifty students…" David let out a low whistle. "It's not unheard of," Charlie added, taking the device from him. "Okay. Monday morning, bright and early, the class files in and you say the two words every student dreads."

"Pop quiz," David supplied.

Charlie grinned. "Exactly. Now if you had to hand out that quiz to a hundred and fifty students at, say, eight seconds per student…"

David cut in. "It'd take twenty minutes to hand them out."

"Right," the mathematician agreed. "And another twenty minutes to collect them. Since the average time for a university level class is forty-five minutes to an hour, which leaves five to twenty minutes to complete the quiz." He shrugged. "Granted, some classes are a lot longer – as much as three hours – but then you, as the instructor, cut into your own time by handing them out and collecting them again."

"I knew there was a 'laziness factor' in there somewhere," the agent quipped. Charlie smiled. "So this thing eliminates the need for all that?"

"That," Charlie agreed. "And the instructor can input the answers ahead of time. The student plugs in their answers…" He mimicked punching in numbers on the keypad. "…And when the instructor says 'Time's up', they get their marks immediately."

David nodded and pointed at the device. "You said there's more going on with this one, though."

Charlie glanced at him and frowned. "There is." He set the keypad on his desk and moved to the chalkboard on the wall. "I had a friend in the computer lab run a diagnostic on this PRS device," he began, sketching on the board. "And I supplied a program to filter through the information stored on it to find any anomalous data."

"Such as…?"

"Such as," Charlie turned and shrugged. "Anything that looked out of place. Information that isn't included in the standard programming. Data that came from a source other than the hubs Mandy Fischer's instructors use."

David frowned. "But aren't these things programmed to one system?" he asked. "Don said you told them they use radio and infrared to pick up signals from the transmission hub."

"That's true," Charlie agreed, going back to his sketch. "But, like with all radio transmissions, there is the possibility of piggybacking the signal."

"Unless you use a dedicated system," David began, but the professor cut him off.

"Actually, no. Even radios with a dedicated crystal system can be piggybacked." He pointed to the sketch. "Let's say you're using a radio with a dedicated system here," he said, tapping a point he'd drawn. David nodded. "Now, the radio you have is tuned to a frequency picked up by this transmitter, here." Another tap. "Everything transmitted and received by your system should be exclusive – no one else should be able to get in there, right?"

"Right."

Charlie shook his head. "But what if your transmitter was moved?" he asked. "Or your receiver? Each system, from ones like the PRS to FM radio stations, is set up using precise calculations for maximum effect. The recording studio your favorite radio station uses isn't in the same location as its tower – that would be impractical." David nodded again. "So, the transmitter from the studio is set up in such a way as to send signals to its tower – and then broadcast to the hundreds of thousands of receivers that pick it up from there."

"Okay," David agreed. "But what if it was moved?"

"Then the integrity of the dedicated system would be compromised," Charlie went on. "Other, stronger signals – either on the same frequency, or only a fraction of a degree off of it – would be able to intrude on the system."

David nodded. "So that's what you think happened with Mandy Fischer's device?" he asked. "She moved out of her system area and picked up something else?"

"Either by accident or by design," Charlie agreed. "After the computer lab ran the analysis, they found some information stored on that PRS," he pointed. "That definitely had nothing to do with her classes."

"What kind of information?"

"Dates, times…" Charlie pushed past David to where a portable chalkboard stood behind them. Flipping it over, he indicated rows upon rows of numbers. "I believe," he went on, indicating a column. "That these numbers indicate dollar amounts and _these_…" He pointed to another column. "…Are security codes."

David's mouth fell open. "And you think Mandy Fischer stumbled across this information and was killed for it?" he asked.

Charlie shrugged. "Either that," he replied. "Or she was in on it." He moved to his desk and picked up a manila folder, handing it to David. "These are copies of all the aberrant information we collected from the PRS," he explained. "We're currently trying to determine when and where the information was loaded onto the device. I'll contact you if we get anything on that."

"You can find that out?" David asked.

"Sometimes," Charlie answered. "Sometimes the transmission information is logged onto the device when it's received. Each transmitter has its own, unique signature. I'm hoping we can extrapolate that data from Mandy's PRS."

David smiled. "Thanks, Charlie," he said, waving the folder. "I'll get this back to Don right away. This will help a lot." Charlie returned the smile. "Best fifty bucks I ever spent."

Charlie's smile faded into a look of confusion. "What?"

"Never mind," David replied, heading for the door. "I'll talk to you later."

**123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321**

Don turned from talking to a pair of sheriff's deputies and nodded in Colby's direction. "Two guys," Colby began, consulting a small notepad in his hand. "Late thirties, early forties. Paid for Mosley's bail – cash – and escorted him out of the courthouse. He was last seen climbing into a newer luxury car." He snapped the notebook shut and tucked it into the pocket of his suit coat. "Maybe a Lexus or a Beemer," he continued. "Dark blue or black."

"Gotta love eyewitnesses," Don muttered.

"You'd think," Colby agreed. "What with all the law-enforcement types around here, someone would've seen something."

Don nodded thoughtfully. "Hear me out," he said suddenly. "Let's say you want Mandy Fischer dead…"

"Okay…"

"I mean," he continued. "Never mind the why – you just _do_. How would you go about it?"

Colby considered that. "Well," he began slowly. "I'd try to make sure I didn't get blamed for it."

"How would you do that?"

The agent shrugged. "Don't leave any evidence, make sure what evidence there _is_ can't be traced back to me."

"Or make sure someone else takes the fall for it," Don offered. "Some guy in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Or," Colby drawled, thinking fast. "Take advantage of an existing situation and make it do the dirty work for you." Don frowned, confused. "Remember what Mosley said?" Colby continued. "Mandy Fischer came on to him… _after_ she had an argument with someone else."

Don nodded. "Find the person she was fighting with," he said. "And maybe find the killer."

The two men climbed into their vehicle and headed back to the office in silence, each one thinking the same thing. When the elevator doors opened on their own floor, Colby was the first to put it into words. "What about the earrings, though?" he asked with a frown. "That part doesn't fit."

"I don't know," Don replied. "Maybe the guy she was fighting with was in on the home invasions and gave them to her."

"And someone else," Colby offered. "Boyfriend, maybe, saw them and got jealous?" Don nodded. "I don't know. Maybe." His voice trailed off as they turned into their cubicles.

"And maybe Mandy Fischer was in on it up to her eyeballs," David countered, holding up Charlie's folder. "That PRS device she had on her contained all sorts of interesting information – and I'm not talking the cure for cancer, either."

"Pity," Colby muttered.

David opened the file. "Charlie's algorithm managed to ferret out stuff that had nothing to do with her classes," he continued. "But it had a lot to do with home invasions."

Don took the folder from his outstretched hand and quickly scanned its contents. "Check this out," he said to Colby. "Here's the date for the first home invasion – and here's roughly what the stuff stolen was worth, according to the insurance company."

"Here's the second one," Colby put in, pointing. "And that amount looks about right, too."

"Yeah," Don agreed, then frowned. "But what about these two? I don't remember these."

David said, "Maybe we haven't heard about those ones."

"Here's the one we caught," Colby went on. "When the couple was murdered."

"What are these, then?" Don asked, tracing a line of numbers with his index finger. "New ones?"

"Or ones that haven't been committed yet," Megan interrupted, entering the cubicle. "I just spent the last half hour on the phone with LAPD, cross-checking the information Charlie gave us with their list of unsolved burglaries." She leaned against the edge of her desk, arms folded. "They match – all of them."

Don's brow furrowed. "So this is a schedule of some kind?" he asked.

Megan shrugged. "It would seem so," she replied.

"We can't count on it now," Colby said. "They've gotta know the information's been found."

"That's a lot of money to just turn your back on," David argued. "And getting that information had to have taken a lot of work – you think they'd just walk away from that?"

Don rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I think," he said at last. "That we have to operate on the assumption that they know we've got this… but that they're still going to try to use it somehow."

"Change the dates, times…" Megan offered. "Change the order. Still, that's a lot of surveillance."

"Well," Don said with a sigh. He pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. "Maybe Charlie can help narrow that down, too."


	7. A Twist

David and Colby exchanged a meaningful look. "I'm telling you," the man insisted. "I don't know this girl. You know how many college kids I got going in and out of here every night?"

The two agents were interviewing the owner of the bar where Mandy picked up Lance Mosley. Even now, in the middle of the afternoon, the establishment was teeming with people barely past the legal drinking age. The thought gave Colby an idea. "Mr. Rose…" he began.

"Rosie," the bartender interrupted. "Everyone here calls me Rosie."

Colby quirked an eyebrow at David but didn't comment. "Rosie," he corrected. "Mandy Fischer was in here two weeks ago, playing pool at one of your tables and kicking up a fuss. We have a witness that says she threw her cue onto the table and stormed over to the bar." He shrugged. "Most people that own pool tables would be on the lookout for that – chipping the slate can be a pretty expensive fix."

"I _told_ you," Rosie insisted. "I get a lot of college kids in here. They get fooling around and stuff like that happens. I can't remember every one that puts a scratch in the felt." He shrugged. "Whenever spring break comes around, I just include it in my budget."

"And because your budget goes up," David put in. "You can't really afford to be picky on who you let in the door, am I right?" He leaned conspiratorially on the bar. Lowering his voice, he asked, "How about I just do a quick ID check on these kids? Think they're all over twenty-one? Mandy Fischer sure wasn't."

Rosie swallowed nervously and glanced around the bar. To Colby, he said, "Lemme look at that picture again."

Colby smiled at David and passed the folder to the bar owner. "She was playing pool," he offered. "Then she came up to the bar, picked up a guy sitting here and left."

Rosie pretended to study the picture carefully. It was a portrait of Mandy Fischer in her high school graduation gown. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I think I might remember her – she was drinking Manhattans."

David and Colby glanced at each other. "And?" David prompted. "Do you remember who she was with?"

Lifting his gaze to the ceiling, Rosie squinted as he thought. "She was with a couple of guys," he began. "Not locals."

"College students?" Colby asked.

"Maybe," Rosie shrugged. "One of them was clean-cut – looked like he had money, you know? Mighta been older than college." The agents nodded. "The other one… He was younger and kind of rangy-looking. Long hair, a short-sleeved shirt over a long-sleeved one, jeans falling off, some kind of chain hanging off his belt loop – the style that seems so popular nowadays."

David asked, "Do you remember which one she was arguing with?"

Rosie stared at the photo again. "The… rangy one, I think," he replied. "The other one was pretty quiet. Just kind of stood back and let them fight it out."

"Do you think you'd be able to describe them to a sketch artist?" Colby put in. "We can have one come here, or you can come to the office."

"Bring 'em here," Rosie said with a sigh. "I'm short-staffed as it is. I can't afford to leave right now." He snapped his fingers suddenly. "Jay!"

"Pardon?" David said.

Rosie shook his head in exasperation. "My DJ – Jay – he was working that night. I think this girl," He tapped the picture. "Was talking to him for a while."

"Where can we find him?" Colby asked.

Rosie glanced up at the clock on the wall over the bar. "He'll be starting in a couple of hours," he replied. "Usually gets here a little early – say six o'clock?"

David took the folder from him. "We'll be back at six, then," he said. "Thank you for your help."

As the two men strode for the door, Colby said, "Two hours… just enough time to buy me supper, David."

"I knew you were gonna bring that up," David groused. "Where do you want to eat?"

"Know of anywhere close by that we can find a nice steak?"

**123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321**

Don looked up from where he was making notes on a legal pad, nodded at Charlie, and then went back to his telephone conversation. "Yeah… uh huh… you're sure about that? Okay…"

Megan walked around the corner of her cubicle stirring a large cup of coffee absently. "Hey, Charlie," she said. "What brings you here?"

Glancing to where his brother was still engrossed in his phone conversation, Charlie walked over to her desk and leaned up against it. "I heard back from my friends…" he began.

"The ones at UNL?" Megan asked, dropping her stir stick in the garbage.

Charlie nodded. "They managed to confirm the information you had – that Mandy Fischer lived off-campus, but…"

"But…"

The mathematician frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. "There seems to be some disagreement on whose idea it was."

Megan's eyebrows rose. "Oh?" she asked, sipping her coffee. "Whose idea was it, then?"

"The consensus is," Charlie replied, glancing again at Don. "That it was Mandy's stepfather that arranged for her to live off-campus… looking for a place, paying the rent up front… that sort of thing."

"Charlie," Megan said with a chuckle. "That's not that unusual. Most parents want to know what kind of housing situation their children will have when they start college." Charlie shrugged apologetically. "Really – it's not that strange. Anything else?"

Charlie nodded. "Remember me mentioning Diane Telcott?" he asked. Megan nodded. "Well, she had Mandy Fischer in one of her classes. She said Mandy was a really good student – hard worker, straight B+ average…"

"But…"

"Diane said about eight months ago something changed. Mandy's marks slipped a bit and her attitude was different," Charlie replied.

Megan frowned. "Different how?"

"She became hard to deal with – belligerent and disrespectful."

"And she wasn't like that before," Megan said. It wasn't a question.

Charlie shook his head and continued, "It was right about the time she went into off-campus housing, too."

Sipping her coffee thoughtfully, Megan mused, "Same time she moves out of the dorm, her attitude takes a nose-dive…"

"Megan." Don's voice interrupted her thoughts. He hung up the phone and stood, striding over to where they were. "Hey, Charlie," he added absently. To Megan, he said, "I just got off the phone with LAPD. They've found Mosley."

"Oh, no," Megan answered, correctly interpreting his expression. "He's dead?"

Don nodded. "A couple of people in Watts reported seeing a body lying in an alley," he went on. "ID says it's Mosley. One shot."

Megan stared into her cup, her expression a mixture of resignation and frustration. "Well," she said at last. "I guess that lets him off the hook for Mandy Fischer." She looked up. "Charlie's friends in Nebraska say Mandy was fine until about eight months ago, when she copped an attitude and moved off campus." Don looked at Charlie in surprise, who nodded. "Apparently she was an average, everyday college student until then."

Don's brow furrowed. "Eight months ago?" he repeated. He walked back to his desk and picked up the folder containing the information gleaned from Mandy's PRS. "Eight months ago… here it is," he said, tracing his finger down the page. "The first home invasion was right about then." He looked up. "Think it's related?" he asked.

Charlie shrugged. "Seems like a heck of a coincidence if it isn't," he replied.

"I think," Megan said, turning to her desk. "That it's about time I talked to JoBeth Fischer."

**123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321**

"Yeah, I remember her."

David and Colby exchanged a glance. "What can you tell us about her?" Colby asked.

The DJ studied the photograph in his hands for a moment. "Cute girl," he said at last. "Nice bod – really liked to shake it, you know?"

"She ask for anything in particular?"

Jay shook his head. "I don't remember," he confessed. "But if you give me a second, I can check my notes." The two agents nodded and he stepped into the control booth, emerging a moment later with a large, three-ring binder. He thumbed through the pages. "That's a week ago, Friday, right?" he asked.

"Right," Colby agreed. The two agents waited while he read.

"Okay," Jay said at last. "Here it is – she made two requests." David rolled his hand, urging him to continue. "There was one – a dance mix… and later she asked for a dedication."

"Who'd she dedicate it to?" Colby asked immediately.

Jay consulted his list. "Janny," he said shortly.

Colby looked at David. "Roommate from school?" he wondered. David shrugged.

"Not unless they're co-ed," Jay put in. "Janny's a guy."

David's eyebrows rose. "A guy?" he echoed. "Named 'Janny'?"

Jay shrugged. "It's a nickname."

"He got a real name, then?"

"Sure." Jay tossed the binder onto a shelf in his booth. "James Nelson. Hangs around quite a bit."

"Any idea where we can find him?" Colby asked.

Jay nodded. "Probably the same place your girl did – by the pool at the Vagabond Motel."


	8. Step Forward

Megan hung up the phone with a sigh. "Any luck?" Don asked.

"Depends on what you call 'luck'," she replied. "JoBeth Fischer strikes me as an intimidated woman."

"How's that?"

She began counting off items on her fingers. "She's very close with any details, doesn't want to talk about her husband – but will talk about her daughter. She's not very forthcoming with details, instead keeps telling me to talk to her husband…" Megan held up a finger. "Which does lead us to an interesting point."

"Yeah?" Don asked, taking the stirrer out of his coffee cup and sucking on it briefly. "What's that?"

"She told me I couldn't talk to Gordon right now, because he wasn't there…"

"We know that," Don put in.

Megan nodded once. "But she also said he travels a lot – every couple of weeks, Gordon Fischer has to go away on business."

Don sat up straighter in his chair. "Anyway you can verify that?" he asked.

"You mean other than the business that seems to coincide with home invasions?" Megan quipped. "I'll think of something."

"Good," Don said. "I'll… hang on." He picked up his phone, which had begun to ring. "Eppes… yeah, Charlie… what?" At Megan's questioning look he frowned and shook his head. "Slow down… it was what?" He stuck a finger in his ear to drown out the office noise. "How did she…?" Megan grabbed a nearby legal pad and scribbled on it before handing it over. Don glanced at the note and nodded. "Okay, so… alright… and this works how? No, wait – don't explain it. But you're sure about that?" He paused. "All right, Charlie. Good work. I'll get back to you, okay? Bye." He hung up the phone and scrubbed a hand through his hair in agitation.

Megan smiled sympathetically. "Decoded messages one-oh-one?" she asked.

"Condensed, abridged and crammed in sideways," Don agreed. "Apparently the data in Mandy's PRS was picked up by a hand-held transmitter."

"And he knows that how?"

Don grimaced. "If you really want to know," he replied. "Phone him and ask. Suffice it to say she didn't get it from one of her teachers."

"So now what?" Megan asked.

"Now," Don answered, reaching for the phone again. "We get our colleagues in Omaha to take a look at Mandy's living quarters."

**123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321**

Colby looked up as Don entered the observation room. "Hey," he greeted shortly.

"Hey." Don nodded at the view screen. "Who's this?"

"James Anthony Nelson," Colby replied. "Known to his fans as 'Janny'."

Don smirked. "He has fans?"

"Of course." Colby pointed to the screen. "This is one of the guys Mandy Fischer was playing pool with on the night she died." Both men fell silent as they listened to David interview the man in the next room.

David leaned his elbows on the table. "What were you arguing about, James?" he asked again. "We have witnesses to you two fighting, you know."

"Nothin'," the young man replied sullenly. "She was a sore loser, is all."

"She wasn't losing, James," David countered, hoping his bluff would hold. "What were you fighting about?" When the other man didn't answer, David relaxed into his seat. "Seems kind of odd to me… one minute she's asking the DJ to play tunes for you – the next she's flipping out and throwing her cue? What'd you do, James?"

Janny sighed. "Cut it with the 'James', man," he said. "People call me Janny – James was my dad's name."

"All right," David conceded. "Janny… so what happened? You lose your temper?"

"Naw, man," Janny replied, scowling. "She just went all psycho… no big deal. Chicks like her are always wiggin' out over nothin'."

David nodded. "So what was _this_ chick 'wigging out over', Janny?" he pressed. When the younger man didn't reply, he continued, "You not fancy enough for her? Was that it?" A muscle worked in Janny's jaw. "She comes in there, done up like she's all that, and loses her cool when you won't blow your dough on her? Is that it?"

"Naw." Janny sat up a little straighter and glanced at David before resuming his study of the tabletop. "She was _real_, you know? When she got in town. And then she just…" He shrugged. "She went all _diva_ on me." He spat the word out. David nodded and waited for him to continue. "I dunno… she was cool, you know? Classy and fine… and then a couple of days later, she's all about the bling and Coco, you know?"

Don exchanged a confused look with Colby. "I depend on him to interpret," Colby muttered, nodding at David.

David steepled his fingertips together. "So what was the fight about?" he asked quietly.

"We were cool," Janny said. "Till that dude showed up. Then Mandy wants him to shoot stick with us… I'd had enough. Told her to wise up."

"Then what happened?"

"She took off – went to the bar. I went to a table." Janny shrugged. "If she was going was going to put on a show, I wasn't buying tickets."

David nodded. "Tell me about the dude, Janny."

"Just this old guy," he replied in a bored tone. "He was minted, I could tell. And Mandy? She started with that prima donna act the minute he walked through. She took off to the john when he showed – came back with ice. I didn't like that. Nossir." He shook his head solemnly.

"He gave it to her?"

"Looked like." Janny shrugged. "I didn't think she liked that, but…" He slouched a little further in his seat. "…Guess I didn't know jack, huh?"

Don snorted. "That makes two of us." Colby laughed.

"So Mandy went to the bar, you went to a table – where'd the dude go?" David asked.

Janny scowled. "Didn't know, didn't care, man."

"What happened next?"

"She come back – asked me to come play pool with them. I said no."

David nodded. "She took off?" he asked.

"Went back to the bar. Gave the dude some kinda look," Janny agreed. "Grabbed this other dude and hightailed it outta there."

"You go after her?"

"Not me, man," he replied, shaking his head. "The other guy, though – _he_ did."

**123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321**

The three agents met outside the conference room. "I think I might have gotten the gist of it," Don began. "But just to clear up any misconceptions…" He let his voice trail off.

David smiled. "Janny and Mandy were at the bar together," he explained. "Everything was great until the third guy showed up. Then Mandy started acting out."

"Sound familiar?" Colby put in. Don nodded.

"He thinks the second guy gave her the earrings," David went on. "She went to the washroom and came back with them on."

Don frowned. "But he didn't see him give them to her?" he asked. David shook his head. "Then it's only circumstantial. Go on," he prompted.

"Janny told her he didn't like her attitude," David continued. "He left the game and went to sit down – that's when Mandy went to the bar and met up with Mosley."

"Alright."

David folded his arms across his chest. "She didn't go to the washroom like Mosley said – she went to go talk Janny into coming back to their game."

"Where was the third guy in all this?" Don interrupted.

"He doesn't know," Colby offered. At Don's questioning look, he shrugged. "I got that much out of it, at least."

Grinning, David said, "After that, she went back to the bar, grabbed Mosley and they left." He paused. "And guy number three went right after."

"We need witnesses stating that Janny stayed at the bar," Don said firmly. "And get a sketch artist up here. Maybe this kid can give us a face, at least."

"Ten bucks says he can't give you a dictionary," Colby quipped.


	9. One Solution

A/N: Shortest chapter - my apologies.

Charlie rounded the corner of the bullpen, almost running headlong into Megan. "Hey," he greeted breathlessly. "Where's Don?"

"Getting a coffee," she replied. "Where's the fire?"

Glancing at the break room, Charlie said, "Don called and said the agents in Nebraska found a piece of equipment in Mandy Fischer's house. He asked me if I could find out what it was."

"And?" Don strode to his desk, a coffee stirrer sticking out of the corner of his mouth. "What'd you find out?"

"Martin – remember? Martin Luffman?" Don nodded. Charlie took the chair Megan held out for him, dropping into it heavily. "He went over there and had a look. It's a Tempest device."

Don's brow furrowed in confusion. He looked at Megan, who shrugged. "It's a what?" he asked Charlie.

"A Tempest device," the mathematician repeated. "It's a… well, simply put, it's a machine that can be used to pick up information from a computer." He looked up as David and Colby entered the cubicle. "A computer puts out low-level electromagnetic radiation, right?" The agents nodded slowly. "Well, the machine in Mandy's house has the capability to capture and process that frequency of transmission and turn it back into information." He paused, looking at their faces. "Think of it this way," Charlie offered. "You're watching television and someone in the next room starts vacuuming the floor – what happens?"

"The screen goes fuzzy?" Colby put in.

"Exactly!" Charlie pointed at him for emphasis. "The interference is the signal your TV is picking up from the vacuum's motor. The Tempest device does the same thing."

Don frowned thoughtfully. "So… how did Mandy Fischer get her hands on one?"

Charlie shook his head. "It's not an _actual_ Tempest device," he amended. "Martin said it belongs to one of Mandy's classmates – some kind of project they were working on. Apparently they asked Mandy to store it because they were afraid of it being tampered with or broken before they had a chance to submit it."

"Charlie," Megan cut in. "What does that have to do with the case?"

David nodded. "If this machine can eavesdrop on computers – whose computer was she eavesdropping on?" he added.

"Judging from what Martin told me," Charlie replied. "It's a viable machine – but without the peripheral equipment, I'd say the computer would have to have been right there in the house with her."

Don and Megan spoke together. "Gordon Fischer." Don turned to Colby. "Get those sketches in here – I want to see who this third guy is we're dealing with. David," he added, looking at the other agent. "Dig up everything you can find on Gordon Fischer. Megan…"

"Call the Omaha office and get them to seize any computers in Mandy Fischer's residence," she finished for him, heading for her desk. "I'm on it."

Don glanced at Charlie. "Want to tell me how you know so much about these machines, bro?" he asked.

Charlie shrugged. "The NSA and the FBI have been looking at them for ages, Don," he replied easily. "Crypto-analysts and computer technicians have been trying to devise a way to prevent Tempest attacks on the public for quite some time."

"Well," Don said, sitting up in his chair and picking up a pen. "I certainly hope you're getting somewhere with it."

Charlie smiled and ducked his head.

**123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321**

"Gordon Fischer," David began as he entered the conference room. The other agents and Charlie were seated around the long table and looked up when he came in. "Born August 23rd, 1965…" He paused. "Died January 11th, 1978." Snapping the folder in his hand closed, he added, "Nothing there."

Don looked at Megan. "Anything on those computers yet?" he asked.

"They've got their people going over them now," she replied. "They said they'd call as soon as they find something."

"The two sketches are almost a dead ringer for Fischer," Colby put in, shoving another folder across the table to Don. "Both Janny and the bar owner, Rosie, are willing to pick him out of a lineup."

Charlie peered over Don's shoulder at the drawings. "Sure looks like Mandy's father," he murmured.

"Stepfather," Don corrected. "Mandy's mother remarried." He glanced up as the phone rang and Megan picked up. "What we need," he continued. "Is a concrete trail from Gordon Fischer – or whoever he is – to the home invasions."

"We got it," Megan declared, dropping the receiver onto its cradle. "That was Omaha. They seized two computers from Mandy's residence – one was obviously hers, the other was a laptop computer containing the same information Charlie found on Mandy's PRS device." She beamed at Charlie. "They also found a hand-held radio that transmits on the same frequency received by the PRS."

Charlie grinned. "That's it!" he said. "Mandy picked up information from Gordon's computer with the Tempest device and used the radio to store it on her PRS." He looked at Don. "She must have thought leaving the data on her computer wasn't safe," he added. "And put it on her PRS for later."

"Or as a bargaining chip," Colby put in. "She wasn't stupid – and she changed right about the time the first home invasion happened. My guess is, she knew what Gordon was up to, told him she had his info and threatened to go to the cops unless he cut her in on it."

"All right," Don announced, getting up from the table. "I think it's about time we brought in Mr. Fischer and had a heart-to-heart chat with him, don't you agree?" The other agents nodded. "Let's go, then."


	10. Proof

"Okay," Don said quietly as he strapped on his Kevlar vest. "Fischer's supposed to meet me here at three o'clock." He glanced around. They were in an industrial area near Long Beach Harbor, surrounded by warehouses. "There's no reason to think he'll be unarmed – or alone. Everybody ready?" He looked to the numerous assembled agents, all wearing tactical gear. "Alright," he said when they'd acknowledged him. "Colby – you take a team around to the north side of the warehouse, David… go around to the back." Don waited until they'd left and then turned to the remaining FBI agents. "Wait for my signal," he cautioned them. "I fully expect resistance from this guy." He nodded to Megan, shrugged into an FBI windbreaker and zipped it, covering the protective armor. "Ready?"

Megan nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be," she replied. "Let's do it." Together they approached the nearest building, peering around cautiously. "I don't see anyone," Megan muttered.

"Don't worry," Don murmured back. "They're here – I know it."

They climbed onto one of the loading docks and made their way to a single man door set between two oversized rollup doors. "Here we go," Don said. He lifted his hand and spoke into the mike clipped to his wrist. "Everyone in position?" he asked.

"Team one ready," Colby's voice sounded in his ear. "Team two ready," David echoed a second later. Don glanced over his shoulder at the team stationed just around the corner, out of sight. The leader gave him a 'thumbs-up' sign and brought his machine rifle up to his shoulder. Don looked at Megan and then raised his hand, rapping sharply on the metal door.

It opened immediately. "Agent Eppes," Gordon Fischer said. "Right on time."

"Mr. Fischer," Don replied. "You remember Agent Reeves?"

The other man nodded perfunctorily. "Agent," he said. "What can I do for you? My time is rather limited, you see…"

"We'd like you to come with us and answer a few questions, Mr. Fischer," Megan replied.

"What could you possibly want to ask me now?" the man said irritably. "I've answered all your questions."

Don shook his head. "Not all of them," he countered. "We have more we'd like to ask you."

"Like what?"

"Like how your stepdaughter managed to come by a pair of earrings taken in a home invasion," Megan retorted.

"I already told you, I don't-"

Don cut him off. "Oh, I think you do," he said. "And what's more, I think this warehouse has a lot more where that came from."

Fischer's cheeks reddened. "How dare you insinuate-"

"I'm not 'insinuating' anything," Don interrupted again. "I _am_, however, putting you under arrest for murder and robbery."

The door slammed shut. Don pulled his gun, checked to make sure the team of agents was behind them and then yanked the door open, shielding himself against the wall. "All teams move in!" he barked into his wrist mike. During the ensuing commotion as the other two teams made entry, Don and Megan slipped through the open doorway in a crouch, ducking behind some nearby crates for protection. Shots rang out, sending wood chips from the crates and fragments of concrete flying. Several ripped through the bay doors and Don flinched as one of the agents still positioned on the other side cried out.

"Where'd he go?" Megan shouted above the sound of gunfire.

Don peered around the edge of his crate, withdrawing quickly when a round hit the pavement in front of him, sending bits of masonry airborne in a cloud of dust. "Looks like he ducked into that office," he shouted back, pointing. "I'm going in."

Megan nodded. Popping up from behind her crate, she fired repeatedly as Don scurried away on all fours. The gunfire was almost deafening at that point and she estimated most of Fischer's men to be in the northeast corner of the warehouse. Radioing her intention to Colby and David, she signaled the team beside her to head in that direction under cover of the assembled containers.

Don headed for the office, weaving around wooden boxes as he went. He paused, peering around a large stack for a better look at his objective, when something caught his eye. Checking to make sure he hadn't been spotted, Don half-crouched, half-ran to a crate with its lid partially removed. He looked inside, frowning when he recognized some of the contents. Setting his jaw in a grim line Don resumed his course toward the man responsible.

"Granger!" Megan called, signaling the other agent with a wave of her hand. Colby nodded and led his team around the far side of the gunmen's position. Megan turned to David as well, but he anticipated her command and was already headed in the other direction. Checking her ammunition, she looked to the team behind her, nodding once when they gave her the 'thumbs-up'. She lifted her wrist mike to her mouth and hissed, "On three. One… two…"

With the sound of Megan's 'three' fading in his ear, Don rushed the entrance to the office, knocking the door wide to slam against the wall behind it. Except for a desk, a filing cabinet and a couple of chairs, the room appeared to be empty. He flinched as a bullet whizzed past his head, embedding itself in the wall opposite. Don leapt to one side of the doorway but not before a second bullet followed the first, catching his upper right arm in its wake. Don bit back an oath and quickly switched his gun to his left hand. "Alright, Fischer," he declared loudly. "Come out with your hands up."

Movement from behind the desk drew his attention and Don leveled his gun at the piece of furniture. "Come out of there," he repeated. "Or I start putting holes in the wood."

A pair of hands appeared over the edge of the desktop, one of them clutching a revolver. The gunfire in the warehouse had died down and Don could hear the scrape of wood against concrete as Fischer moved the chair out of the way. "Put the gun on the desk," Don ordered. "Get up and face the wall."

Fischer's head peeked over the top of the desk. "You're injured, Agent Eppes," he sneered, not relinquishing his hold on the gun.

"And I'm right handed," Don agreed. "So if I aim to wing you, there's no telling where I might hit."

"You could miss."

"And I could just throw caution to the wind and make sure you can't fire back." Don brought his own gun up, aiming for the center of Fischer's forehead. "Put the gun down – _now_."

Fischer dropped the revolver on the desk, pushing it away from him gently. "You don't know what you're messing with here, Eppes," he warned, climbing to his feet and turning around.

Don waited until the other man put his hands up on the wall in front of him before switching his gun back to his right hand and drawing out his handcuffs. "Oh, I know what I'm dealing with," he replied. "A vicious, murdering scumbag that won't even draw the line at killing his own stepdaughter." He fastened one of the metal bracelets around Fischer's left wrist. Jabbing the muzzle of his gun in the small of Fischer's back he ordered "Hands behind your back, thumbs up."

Fischer complied. "She was a self-serving spoiled brat. She deserved what she got," he spat.

Don ratcheted the other manacle in place. "Turn around," he said, once again transferring the gun to his other hand. When Fischer was facing him, Don began, "You have the right to remain silent…"

"Yeah, yeah," the other man said, but Don overrode him.

"Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before questioning, free of charge." He paused. "Do you understand what I just told you?" Fischer nodded. Don stepped closer. "Do you understand what I just told you?" he repeated slowly, enunciating his words carefully.

"Yes!" Fischer shouted. "I get it, alright?"

"You feel like talking to me?" Don asked.

The other man sneered. "Not a chance, Fed."

Megan's voice spoke in Don's ear. "All clear, Don – you can come out now." Don stepped back and motioned Fischer to precede him. "Let's go."

"You can't make this stick, you know," Fischer said as he headed for the door. "My lawyers will have me out on bail by tomorrow at the latest."

Don watched as two tactical agents grabbed Fischer's arms and led him outside. Holstering his weapon, Don walked over to the open crate he'd spotted before and lifted the lid. Reaching inside he pulled out a black velvet jewelry case. He opened it, stared at the contents for a moment and then snapped it shut again. David, Megan and Colby appeared at his side.

"You got hit?" Colby asked, concerned.

Don shrugged. "Just a scratch."

"Did Fischer say anything to you?" Megan added.

"Read him his rights," Don replied, turning the case over in his hands. "He lawyered up. Seems to think he'll get bail, though."

David frowned. "With the money he's got, he might just do that," he said.

Don handed him the case. "With all the evidence _we've_ got," he countered, pointing. "I don't think so." He turned and headed for the exit.

David stared at the small box. Instead of feeling soft and plush under his fingertips, the velvet was harsh and crusted. He angled it slightly, looking up at the sound of Megan's gasp.

"That's dried blood," she whispered. Quickly inspecting the contents of the crate, she added, "It's here. It's all here."

"What is?" Colby asked, moving to join her.

She looked up at him, eyes wide. "The jewelry from the last home invasion."


	11. Solved

A/N: This is it. Thank you to everyone that stuck through this with me. Thank you to all who left reviews - especially the lengthy ones. They were fun to read. This didn't turn out quite the way I wanted, but I hope it's not as poor as I think it is.

**123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321123454321**

Don sat at the table silently, pushing his food around on his plate. Alan exchanged a look with Charlie and then nodded at the bowl in front of him. The mathematician picked it up and offered it to his brother. "Salad?" he asked innocently.

Setting down his fork, Don reached for the bowl with his left hand. "Thanks, buddy," he said quietly.

"So you caught the guy," Alan said, attempting to sound casual. "That must feel pretty good."

"I guess."

Charlie glanced at his father again. "He's going away for a while?" he asked.

Don shrugged, barely disguising a wince as he did so. "The DA's going for the maximum sentence."

Alan frowned. "What'd you do to your arm?"

"What?" Don looked up. "What do you mean?"

Sighing, Charlie murmured, "Busted."

"What did you do to your arm?" their father repeated.

"Nothing… never mind," Don muttered. "Just scuffed it a bit."

"On?"

Seeing his brother grow uncomfortable, Charlie put in, "So what happened with the case?"

Alan frowned but let the matter drop. Don sighed and set his fork down. "Fischer was behind the home invasions," he began. "Mandy was tinkering with that… what did you call it? Tempest device?" Charlie nodded. "When he came to visit her – something he did often, apparently," Don continued.

"That would explain why he pushed for her to get a place off-campus," Charlie agreed.

Don nodded. "The… Tempest thing… picked up the information Fischer was putting into his laptop. Using her computer, Mandy managed to figure out what he was doing."

"A Tempest device?" Alan asked suddenly. He looked at Charlie. "I think I've heard of that before. What's a college student doing with one of those?"

"One of her friends made it, actually," the mathematician replied. "She was testing it out." Alan shook his head in disbelief and Charlie told Don, "Keep going."

Don shrugged carefully this time. "She put the data onto the PRS for safekeeping," he went on. "Then she went to Fischer." He fell silent.

"And?" Alan prompted.

Charlie cleared his throat. "I bet I know what happened," he put in. "Fischer offered her a share of the take to keep her mouth shut."

"He was doing more than that," Don muttered darkly, staring at his plate. The three men were silent for a moment. At last, Don sighed and continued, "Mandy was in it up to her eyeballs at that point. And then she met Janny and everything fell apart."

"Jealousy?" Charlie ventured.

"Not on his part," Don replied, shaking his head. "On Fischer's. She picked up Mosley when Janny turned her off. Fischer followed her to the motel room. When he came in, Mosley was out cold. They argued and Fischer grabbed the lamp and hit her."

Alan gasped. "Oh my god."

Don nodded again. "He wiped his prints, transferred Mosley's to everything and left. When Mosley came to, he was still too drunk to realize what was going on. He just left."

"Who grabbed Mosley from the courthouse?" Charlie asked.

"Fischer's men. He was afraid Mosley's memory would clear up."

His father frowned. "Who was this Fischer guy, anyway?" he asked. "I seem to remember you saying he wasn't who he said he was."

"He wasn't," Don agreed. He picked up his fork and resumed pushing his food around. "He was a predator, basically. Found out about Mandy's mom being a widow and moved right in. The whole 'corn farmer' persona lent him some credibility."

"And having someone else do the actual work left him free for his business trips," Charlie offered. "Handy."

Don nodded. "Turns out Fischer was actually a guy by the name of Greg Franklin. Two-bit crook. He almost got caught a few years back, so he changed tactics."

"Seems like he changed more than that," Alan muttered. "He married Mandy's mother for her farm?" When Don nodded, he asked, "What did he tell her about the 'business trips'?"

"He said he was in sales," Don said. "She didn't question him about it – she told Megan it kept him out of the house."

Charlie's eyes widened in surprise. "So she knew what was going on?"

"No," Don replied, shaking his head. "She had her suspicions, though. She thought getting Mandy away to college was the best thing for her."

Alan sighed. "I don't think," he began slowly. "That I will ever get used the idea that there are people out there like Fischer… Franklin… whatever. Home and family are supposed to be the embodiment of love and safety."

"Yeah." Don fell silent, staring at his food, while the other two men watched him. "Thanks, Dad," he said suddenly.

"You're welcome," the older man replied quietly, setting a hand on Don's arm.

Charlie protested "What about me? It's _my_ house, you know."

"As if you'd let us forget that, Chuck," Don quipped, smiling at his younger brother. "I'm reminded of the fact every time I stay over."

"I do not say it every time you stay over," the younger man grumbled.

Don nodded thoughtfully. "True," he said. "But every time I do, _your_ shower runs out of hot water." He ducked as a piece of broccoli sailed past his head. Scooping up a spoonful of mashed potato, Don flung it back at his brother, hitting him on the cheek. "You always were a bad shot," he hooted.

"Boys!" Alan put up his hands in an attempt to stop the food fight. "Gentlemen, please!"

Don and Charlie exchanged a wicked glance and then pelted their father with snow peas and bits of apple. A slice of tomato flew through the air and landed with a wet slap against Alan's cheek. Both of the younger men froze at the murderous look on his face. "Uh… Dad?" Charlie began tentatively, glancing at Don.

"…Sorry?" Don offered, his tone meek.

Alan slowly and deliberately set down his fork. He peeled the offending fruit off, examined it carefully, and then set it on his napkin. Don and Charlie glanced at one another again, worry etched in their features. "I think," their father said quietly. "That enough is enough."

"Dad, we didn't…" "…Said 'sorry'." Both men spoke at once.

Holding up his hand for silence, Alan once again picked up his fork, transferred it to his left hand and then picked up his spoon in his right. "It's about time," he continued, scooping peas with the spoon and loading the fork with dressing-coated salad. "That you two learn the proper way to do things." At the last word, he let fly with both hands, catching Don on the neck with the peas. Charlie ducked, but didn't manage to avoid the forkful of salad landing in his hair.

The fight was on.

**END**


End file.
